


Fifteen Miles, Twenty-Two Minutes

by GenuineRisk



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bendy Straws, Bomb Pops, Commando Patrick, Going to college, Idiots in Love, Kaner Has A Ponytail, Kissing, M/M, Messa Rink, RPI, Shayne Gostisbehere Played for Union, Spanking, Teacher Jonny, Union College, idiot friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 05:45:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9586280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenuineRisk/pseuds/GenuineRisk
Summary: Patrick is a brat. Jonny paddles his ass. Patrick comes all over Jon's desk. They make plans. That about covers it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I made up the whole Roots for Success thing. I doubt it actually exists in the Buffalo school system.
> 
> The only real thing here is that Jon was drafted by Chicago. LOTS of hand waving at everything else. 
> 
> I have no idea if Pat ever suited up for the Junior Sabres. I don't think he did. He plays for them here, though.
> 
> Thank you to PensToTheEnd for the beta. All remaining mistakes are mine.

 ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Patrick actually gets out of bed and into the shower without hitting snooze, a first for him this year and all because he wants to take his dick on a practice run before class today. Hot soapy water, a handful of conditioner and thoughts of Jonny’s spectacular ass make it a pretty quick trip and give him a lot of extra time to pick out his clothes. A clingy long sleeve tee and painted on skinny jeans show off all of Patrick’s ample assets and he quickly gives up on his hair and just pulls most of it back in a tight little ponytail. He brushes his teeth, adds his favorite lip balm and two or three sprays of Le Male and Pat is good to go. He looks great, he knows he looks great, and he smells even better. He’s been looking forward to this day for weeks and he tells himself that it’s going to be so easy.

 

Pat’s in his senior year, funny, popular, captain of the hockey team, top of his class and already committed to a very prestigious research university in Upstate New York because yes, they gave him a full ride for hockey and are allowing him to design his own degree in Statistical Engineering, which he’s doing. Just in case. He thinks about what had happened to Jonny and knows it can happen to him, to anyone, and he needs to look out for his future even if it turns out to be something other than hockey. Patrick feels pretty gown-up about his decision and words like mature and adult and informed and prepared all come to mind when he thinks about it. Too bad the same can’t be said for his reasoning abilities today.

 

The whistles and hoots he gets walking up to his locker put just enough color in his cheeks and let him know the extra effort he spent getting ready was worth it and he heads to class early to grab a front seat. Pat has a plan and he fully expects to execute it. It may have started out as a dare by his buds, but he knows better. And he’ll never admit it, especially not to his jackass friends, but he’s so fucking excited. He’s been following Jon’s career since he was in fourth grade, he’s got a healthy dose of hero worship going on and he just really wants this. He’s not quite sure what _this_ is, he just knows he really wants it and Patrick pretty much always gets exactly what he wants. In fact, it’s more than accurate to say he’s used to a certain level of entitlement in his little high school kingdom. Okay, full-blown, blanket level entitlement, and he takes full advantage of it whenever the urge strikes, like now.

Cases in point: Opening day of the previous hockey season, Pat’s friends dared him to drop the coach’s one hundred-thirty-seven pound pumpkin off the ice rink roof into his English teacher’s vintage Bug. The pumpkin was in the corner of Coach’s office, left over from Halloween and still more or less intact. With the help of several friends, a laundry cart, a 2 x 4 and a cement block, he managed. The car was damn near totaled. Patrick was _spoken to sternly_ by Principal Halloran and then scored a hat trick in that night’s win against their biggest conference rival. Coach thanked him privately for getting rid of the damn pumpkin because it saved him the trouble. Mr. Neil, on the other hand, drove a rental for the next two weeks while his car was being repaired and he wouldn’t even look at Patrick. Patrick just shrugged and said maybe he shouldn’t park so close to the building and things wouldn’t fall on his car.

 

Then there was that day two weeks before last Christmas. The hockey team was supposed to man a free gift wrapping booth at the local mall for a couple hours after school and Patrick bet his friends he could get out of it without getting in any trouble because sometimes he was a little shit like that—and he hated gift wrapping--so he ate two cans of beets he swiped from his kitchen cabinet and drank all the juice and then went to the nurse and told her his back _really hurt_ and brought her in to show her his red pee after he went to the bathroom. She freaked out, going on about lacerated kidneys and simple-minded hockey players. She called his mom, but she couldn’t leave work so she agreed to have the vice principal drive him to his house so he could lay down and rest. When his mom got home, he knew she was on to him by the pissy look on her face. She just shook her head and went to the kitchen to start dinner and made a point to bitch loudly about having to serve green beans with the pork chops because the beets she bought the other day just up and vanished. Pat really loves his mom. She’s a very smart cookie.

 

And just last week Pat’s friends dared him to set up his aunt’s book-on-cd copy of _Say My Name_ to play one of the filthiest sections over the school’s PA system, which was located in Ms. Shirley’s office. He did _and_ he locked her door from the inside when she left for a smoke break so it would go on playing for as long as possible. It took almost twenty-five minutes for maintenance to find the spare keys. That’s a lot of time for a lot of filth to reach a lot of ears. Once again, he was _spoken to sternly_ , but it was pretty plain to see that Mr. Halloran’s eyes were far from angry. He didn’t even call Patrick’s mom. Something about boys will be boys and a little harmless prank. Pat thinks maybe Mr. Halloran actually got off on the whole thing, ewww. _And_ he heard Ms. Shirley got in a lot of trouble for leaving her office unlocked when she wasn’t in it.

 

Yeah, Patrick does a lot of stupid and reckless things throughout the course of a typical day. Even _he_ won’t argue that point. He really can’t. So it’s no surprise to anyone when his friends dare him to mess with this year’s Roots for Success guest teacher, throw him off his game any way he can. And Patrick’s got no problems there, he accepts immediately. He knows all about Jonathan Toews, pretty much everyone does. He’s a school legend and a college star and would have been an NHL star if he didn’t tear up his elbow like he did and end up with a bum Tommy John surgery, at least that was the talk. He remembers going to almost all his games when he was in middle school and he was so good with a stick and a puck that Patrick still refers to him as the star of his very first wet dream and he’s not even really joking, seeing as he just jerked off to visions of his ass in the shower that morning. And of course it’s with these thoughts swirling through Pat’s head that Jonny makes his entrance.

 

He walks into the classroom with a large Dog Ears Café cup in one hand, laptop in the other, all tall and sexy with milk chocolate eyes and smooth skin and muscles. Lots and lots of muscles. Jonny hasn’t played professionally in nearly eighteen months, but you’d never know it by looking at him. He’s wearing a suit so tightly tailored that Pat can clearly see the heavily corded expanse of his thighs plain as day right through the fine wool blend. And that mouth. Patrick just knows exactly how it’s going to feel against his own or cruising down his chest or wrapped around his cock or sucking on the back of his knee or...

 

“Good morning, everyone. Welcome to this year’s Roots for Success Day. My name is Jonathan Toews and I’ll be your teacher for the next seven periods.” His voice is deep and steady and plays right into Pat’s little fantasy he has going on. “I’m sure you all know how this works, so just a brief synopsis. I’m a former student, obviously, graduated five years ago this year so don’t even think of pulling any shit with me today. I’ve done it first and I’ve done it better and I remember it all. I played hockey while I was here, was drafted by Chicago right out of high school but decided to go to college first, won an NCAA title and most importantly, finished my degree in three years and my Master’s in one. I’m currently weighing my options for pursuing a doctorate and in the meantime, I’ll be lecturing at an Upstate New York college. Not exactly what I saw myself doing when I was sitting where all of you are now, but that’s kind of the point of this whole exercise--formulating the best plan for your future, one that will give you viable options and a realistic opportunity for success.”

 

Patrick is still busy staring at Jon’s mouth. He doesn’t even notice the wadded up gum wrappers, rubber bands and various other objects his friends are tossing rapid fire at the back of his head because they’re all idiots.

 

“Double dare, Kaner. Fucking _double_ dare, man,” one of them says from behind him. The rest of them laugh and Pat’s face turns a soft shade of pink. He thinks sometimes his friends are total loser dicks.

 

Jon’s eyes flicker in surprise and lock on Patrick. He’s clearly smirking as he walks up to stand right in front of his desk.

 

“Double dare, eh? Sounds interesting. Care to share? No, not today?” Pat’s heart does a little rapid beat as Jonny reaches out and smooths his hand along the top of his head, all the way back to where the small elastic band is holding his hair in place. There’s a collective gasp of surprise from most of the class at the blatant inappropriateness of it until Jonny pulls his hand away holding a large blue paper clip and a bent tooth pick. He’s laughing now and so is everyone else. “Not sure these fit in with your look today, _Kaner_. Might want to rethink your accessorizing decisions.”

 

“Nice, assholes,” Pat says to his friends while slouching down in his seat and pinking up even more. And fuck Jonny because now all Pat can think about is unzipping those obscene suit pants with his teeth while Jon’s fingers are knotted in his hair. He has to get a handle on this shit and fast because he’s not having the tables turned on him.

 

“So, what exactly is a Kaner?” Now Jon is just flat out messing with him.

 

“Kaner is Pat. _Patrick_ _Kane_. He’s our winger and our captain and the best player on the team. Don’t be surprised when he shatters your scoring record by mid-season, Mr. Toews. He’s so close already there’s no way he won’t do it.” His friends are so helpful.

 

“What’s the matter? Kaner, _Patrick,_ can’t speak for himself? He missing his tongue or something?” Jon’s eyes are flashing and he’s laughing again.  

 

“Ha, ha. Very funny, _Jonathan_. Last time I checked, my tongue was present and working just fine, see?” Patrick looks up at Jon through a thick tangle of lashes, eyes all big and round. He runs his tongue along his lips, first the top, then the bottom, slow and dirty as fuck and thinks he gets his message across because Jon stops laughing and looks a little uncomfortable. Pat’s quite pleased with himself and sits there sporting a smirk of his own.

 

“Riiight. So now that I know who _Patrick_ is, why don’t the rest of you take a minute to introduce yourselves and give me a sentence or two on your plans for after graduation. Let’s start with the peanut gallery over here.” Jonny gestures towards the group of Pat’s friends as he takes a seat at his desk.  

 

Patrick decides to take it slow and spends the rest of first period just sitting back studying Jonathan. He watches how he interacts with the students while he’s doing his Q & A thing and plots the best way to move forward without having the tables turned on him like they damn near were already this morning. When the bell finally rings, he goes to the bathroom to splash some water on his face, hits the vending machine for a Gatorade and then his locker for a handful of bendy straws. Pat’s done fucking around.

 

Unlike the previous class, Jonny actually has a lesson plan for UHS Physics and is at the board drawing a large diagram when everybody files back in and takes their seats. When they see it’s going to be a real class, they all scramble to get out their texts and open their notebooks to follow along. Except for Pat. He’s too busy watching the muscles in Jonny’s ass tighten and shift and play peekaboo with the bottom of his suit coat to pay attention to much else. Jonny finishes up and perches on the corner of his desk.

 

“So, today we’re going to work through some sample questions you’re probably going to see in some variation on the Physics final coming up in May. And there’s no such thing as too much reviewing, so let’s get started with this one.” Jonny gestures towards the blackboard and goes on. “This diagram shows a 2.0-kilogram model airplane attached to a wire. I’m far from an artist, so just bear with me here. The airplane is flying clockwise in a horizontal circle of radius 20 meters at 30 meters per second. Okay, first question. If the wire breaks when the airplane is at the position shown, the airplane will move toward which point and why, A, B, C or D.”

 

Somebody calls out the correct answer and Jonny moves on to the next question.

 

“Great job. Now try this one. The centripetal force acting on the airplane at the position shown is directed toward which point, A, B, C or D? And start by defining centripetal force.”

 

Another correct answer, but Pat still isn’t paying attention. Now he’s preoccupied wondering how Jonny’s thighs don’t just split the seams of his pants any time they happen to flex like they are right at this moment. It’s still physics-related because of the maximum stress exerted and displacement and force and all that stuff. Maybe he’ll ask Jon to explain it to him. He’s pretty sure that’ll get his attention, especially if he asks him to draw a diagram of his hips and thighs.

 

“So, Patrick, this question’s for you since you look like we’re keeping you awake over there.” Jonny interrupts his brilliant idea while his friends all snort and grunt in the background like a bunch of stupid cavemen. “What is the magnitude of the centripetal acceleration of the airplane, is it 0, 45, 1.5 or 90 m/s2? Go on up to the board and work it out for us.” Jonny slides off the desk, walks over to Pat and drops a piece of chalk in front of him.

 

Pat’s still a bit out of it, but he’s all about adapting and taking advantage of a situation to suit his needs and right now he kind of needs Jonny’s attention, something that he can work with. He scoops up the chalk and goes to stand in front of the board. With his back to the class and to Jonny, he sets down the chalk, spreads his legs just a little and makes a show out of tucking in his shirt. He makes sure to palm his ass and smooth the edges of the tee down over its muscular curves as slowly and carefully as he can before sliding his hands out of his pants. There’s a lot of giggling going on behind him. He hears Jonny clear his throat, or maybe he chokes a little. Patrick can’t say for sure. He looks at the diagram in front of him for about two seconds, picks up the chalk and then turns his head to look right at Jon. He lifts the chalk to his mouth and licks the tip, getting it good and wet so it’ll show up better against the slate and quickly scribbles an equation on the board. Patrick works it through in record time and circles his answer before going back to his seat. He doesn’t even wait for Jonny to check his work because he already knows that it’s right.

 

Pat is smirking again as he tosses the chalk back to Jonny, who barely manages to get his hand up fast enough to catch it. He stares at Patrick and his expression is…well, it’s _something_. That’s all Pat needs to see to know that Jonny is toast. Well, maybe not toast, but definitely interested. Alright, _curious_ , at the very least.

 

Patrick spends the rest of the period playing with his bendy straws. He licks them, chews them, sucks up some Gatorade and lets it drip into his mouth while he holds the straw in the air. Anything to draw Jonny’s attention and try to get under his skin. He thinks it’s working because Jonny doesn’t call on him again and is trying really hard to look anywhere other than at Pat, but Pat sees his eyes darting his way more and more often and makes sure to smile at him every single time just so he knows that Patrick _knows_. And he definitely hears an audible sigh of relief from Jon when the bell finally rings.

 

Pat has lab third period, gym fourth period (which no one from the hockey team has to actually participate in because of the risk of injury during the season blah blah blah) and then lunch, so he doesn’t see Jonny again until sixth period. It’s English and they’re reading the screenplay for Gods and Monsters while watching the movie. And again, Jonny has a lesson plan. They’re going to read a scene on their own, then watch it on the screen and spend the rest of the period dissecting and analyzing all the elements of both. Pat’s still in the front row and this time he brings the rest of his Arnold Palmer from lunch, a new handful of straws and a bomb pop he bought on his way out of the cafeteria. Fuck that it’s the end of January, bomb pops are good any time. He gets comfortable in his chair and stretches his legs out in front of him before opening his pop and starting in on the bottom layer while he reads.

 

Patrick always eats bomb pops in reverse so he doesn’t end up with blue lips. It’s a little tricky, but worth the effort. He’s almost through the middle layer when Jonny turns his attention his way, so Pat takes this as his cue to wrap his tongue around the pop and slurp quietly. When he’s sure nothing will drip on the desk, the book or him, he drags his teeth along the remaining layer of lime flavored ice until he’s left with his favorite part, the cherry ice on top. Jonny is pretty much glaring at him at this point, but Patrick goes right on slurping and scraping and swallowing. His eyes never leave Jon’s. He manages two or three more circuits before Jonny opens his mouth.

 

“Mr. Kane, I’m pretty sure there’s a no food policy in the classroom, so you’ll need to either throw that away or go out in the hall to finish it. Immediately.” Jonny sounds a little stressed.

 

“Did you want some, Jonathan? The cherry’s the best part and I’m gonna go out on a limb and say my germs probably won’t kill you if you happen to, ya know, get some of my spit in your mouth.” Patrick makes his face look all sweet and innocent as he holds up what’s left of his bomb pop. Jonny’s eyes go dark and two spots of color appear high on his cheeks. Patrick just shakes his head. “Fine, whatever. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

 

And with that, Pat slides the remaining flavored ice into his mouth, scrapes it off the stick in one smooth motion and swallows it down. The look on Jonny’s face as the top of the bomb pop slides down his throat is worth every last excruciating second of cold freezing pain. He doesn’t even flinch or gag, so fuck Jonathan Toews. He hears things like _holy shit_ and _oh my god_ _did he just do that_ and _Kaner’s the MAN_ coming from the general vicinity of his friends and he can’t help the shit eating grin that spreads across his face. They both ignore the comments and continue to stare each other down for another thirty seconds or so. Jonny cracks first.

 

“Are you done?” He asks while holding his hand out in front of Patrick. “Maybe we can get back to our lesson now.”

 

“Sorry,” Pat says totally unapologetically as he drops his stick and wrapper in Jonny’s outstretched palm. He’s still smiling.

 

Jon turns off the lights and presses play on the laptop on his way to the trash can and everybody settles in to watch the movie. It’s the scene where Clayton agrees to pose shirtless for James so he can paint him, so of course Patrick imagines having Jonny as _his_ hot, sexy gardener and getting to paint him all sweaty and nude and _so fucking cut_ with mussed up hair and smoldering dark eyes and pretty, pretty lips. He’s so lost in his little fantasy that he doesn’t even realize his mouth is going to town on one of those damn straws or that his other hand is under his desk and he’s pretty much hard. It’s the quick suck of air between Jonny’s teeth that brings him back to reality.

 

Patrick’s head jerks to the side because, yeah, Jonny’s sitting at the desk next to him so he can see the movie, except he’s not looking at the screen. His wide horrified eyes are glued to Pat’s hand, which is now rubbing slow deliberate circles into his dick through his jeans. Never one to waste an opportunity, he spreads his legs some more and leans his head back on the chair to expose the creamy line of his neck. His eyes never leave Jonny’s face because Patrick has absolutely no shame at the moment and just to stick it to Jonny some more, he moans a little, deep in his throat, still sucking on the straw.

 

Jonny opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. He just looks at Pat like he can’t even believe what he’s seeing. Pat continues to stare back and then lets his eyes slide down in fascination at the growing bulge he spots in Jonny’s lap. Jonny is mortified and makes a beeline back to his desk and it’s a tossup as to who is blushing more at this point, Pat or Jon.

 

Jon makes the executive decision to just let the movie continue to play and never mind the whole discussion part because he’d rather that than try to explain why he’s sporting a gigantic hard on to a room of high school kids. And fuck Patrick Kane, that fucking little fuckstick fucker. Jon’s pretty sure he knows what that double dare is all about now.

 

Just before the end of the period, Jon stops the film and turns on the lights, returning to his desk as quickly as he can. Patrick watches him with a sleepy expression and a smirk. Jon levels a glare at him and fumes a little before addressing the class.

 

“Alright, everyone. Since next period is a free period, you’re all going to the library or the gym to amuse yourselves, _quietly,_ because I have some paperwork I need to get through without any interruptions, and then you’ll all be back here for final period and we’ll talk a little bit and wrap things up.” The bell rings right on cue and everyone gets up to leave.

 

“Not you, Mr. Kane. You’ll be going nowhere,” Jonny says without even looking at him and motions for him to remain in his seat.

 

Jonny allows himself precisely one microsecond to question what the hell he’s doing.

 

Pat’s still smirking as he watches the last of his class file out. Jonny closes the door behind them, pulls down the shade and flips the lock. Then he makes his way to the bank of windows and twists the blinds shut tight enough to block out the light and any curious eyes. Patrick’s smirk starts to falter a little when Jonny takes off his jacket, tosses it over one of the desks and rolls up his sleeves. He’s staring Pat down the whole time and the smirk is gone completely by the time Jonny clears off the top of his desk, loosens his tie and opens the top two buttons of his shirt. Patrick is really fucking nervous now and he moves to stand up.

 

“Sit down, Patrick, and don’t move until I say so.”

 

Patrick sits down. He’s sweating a little and breathing hard and starting to worry about just what he got himself into. He’s figuring out that it’s a whole other ballgame one on one with Jonny than it is with his friends literally right behind him. And to make matters worse, he’s also really fucking turned on right now, in spite of his nerves, and he wonders if Jonny knows. 

 

Jonny knows.

 

“Well, hot shot, I guess I should be flattered you find my style of teaching so…stimulating.” Jon bends his head just enough to look directly under Pat’s desk. “Hmm, yeah, so feel free to carry on with whatever you had going with your hand last period, okay? I _double dare_ _you_ , _Kaner_.” Jonny says it smug as shit and sits down at his desk. He pulls out his phone and proceeds to ignore Patrick completely.

 

Patrick makes it about thirty whole seconds before he starts.

 

“Can I go to the bathroom, man, I really need to piss.” Jonny doesn’t let on he hears him.

 

“Can I get another drink or something? I’m dying of thirst.” Still no response.

 

“You got any Tylenol? Think I’m getting a headache.” Pat starts tapping on his desk in a nervous rhythm.

 

“Can I open a window? It’s too fucking hot in here.” Patrick’s voice is starting to rise a little, clearly agitated.

 

“How about the water fountain? It’s right outside the door and I need a drink.” His foot starts tapping against the leg of the desk in time with his hands. Jonny continues to ignore him.

 

“Can I at least erase the board? I can’t just sit here and do nothing like this. I’m gonna go nuts. Come on, Jon, gimme a break.” Jonny goes right on scrolling through his phone like Patrick isn’t even there. Pat’s hand tapping turns into full blown drumming.

 

“Am I in detention or something? Is that what this is? Can you even do that? Why won’t you answer me?” His last question comes out as an actual whine and Jon puts his phone away and gives Patrick his full attention.

 

“Holy _fuck_ , give it a rest already. What are you, three? Fine. Erase the board. And don’t get fucking chalk dust all over the place.”

 

Pat jumps out of his seat and practically jogs to the board to pick up an eraser. He raises his arm and begins sliding it down and up in neat even strokes, leaving behind a clean black surface with barely any dust. He’s halfway through the first board when he feels Jonny’s eyes on him without even having to look and it makes him so very stupid and reckless. He turns to face Jonny.

 

“Not gonna lie, Jon, I’ve been looking forward to this day for a while. You’re kind of a really big deal around here and I’ve sorta been following your career since I was a little kid. Fuck, man, my butthole puckered when you walked in this morning. That pretty much says it all. And you’re not my actual teacher, so this probably isn’t considered a felony or anything,” Patrick says, waving his hand back and forth between himself and Jonny. “That’s a good thing because I saw you chub up last period and it’s your own stupid fault for wearing those pants, by the way. No chance of hiding anything in there. Damn, Jon, they’re so tight I can count the fucking change in your pocket. I see the way you’ve been looking at me and I just want to say that I’m not some dumb kid and I know how to keep my mouth shut about things.”

 

Ironic, considering Patrick’s mouth tends to run long and unfiltered when he’s nervous and being alone with Jonny makes him plenty nervous. He finally stops talking, goes back to erasing the board and waits for Jonny’s reaction.

 

Jonny is shaking his head, suddenly struck by the stark similarity between Patrick and an old-fashioned wind-up toy, wound up tight then off and running, and running, and running some more until all the tension in the coil is spent and it all just stops, abruptly. He’s also struck by the verity of Patrick’s words and it unnerves him to the point that he needs tamp it down any way he can.

 

Jon’s chair scrapes along the floor as he pushes it back and stands up. Before Patrick can react, Jonny’s fingers are closing over his forearm and he spins him around so quickly that the eraser flies out of his hand and lands across the room in a cloud of chalk dust.

 

“Patrick, what exactly do you think is going on here?” Jonny’s so close that Pat can smell his deodorant, his shower soap, his hair gel, his shoe polish, his sweat, his skin cream, his hand sanitizer, the remnants of whatever he had in the Dog Ears cup earlier. He can smell everything and it’s all a little overwhelming. Yeah, Jonny makes him really fucking nervous.

 

“What do I think is going on here? Oh, I don’t know. I thought we were about to tell each other all our dirty little secrets and then maybe hang out and brush each other’s hair until the bell rings. Or maybe we can just blow each other instead. Sound good to you?” Pat goes for humor. Sort of.

 

Jonny shuts it down with just one look and pulls Patrick over to his desk. He doesn’t let go of his arm.

 

“I warned all of you right off the bat not to pull any shit. Do you remember what I said? _I’ve done it first and I’ve done it better and I remember it all._ I really have to hand it to you though, _Kaner_ , this…I never pulled any shit like this. Nope. Not ever. Your behavior from the first minute of the first period has been nothing short of disgusting, shameful, fucking embarrassing. And you call yourself a _captain_? For real? What kind of a leader rubs himself off in fucking English class? Who even does that? I wonder what Coach would think if he knew.” This is definitely not the response Patrick is anticipating and he’s not sure what to do to fix it.

 

“I’m sorry. You’re right and I apologize. My friends dared me to mess with you and it was really stupid, I know. Really. Really. Stupid. No excuses, Jon, none. And for what it’s worth, it stopped being about the dare five minutes after you walked into the room this morning. That’s the truth and I’m so fucking sorry.” Pat’s face is flaming now and he has to force himself to meet Jonny’s eyes because he’s actually honest-to-fuck embarrassed. Jon just looks back at him, his expression oozing disappointment and a few other things Patrick is too worked up to notice.

 

Jon pulls open the bottom drawer of the desk with his foot, glances down, and makes a split second decision. He tells Patrick to hand him what’s in there. Patrick bends down and pulls out a large wooden paddle. His eyes go impossibly huge and most of the color drains out of his face. He hands the paddle to Jonny, who sets it on the desk.

 

“What the fuck is that? You’ve got to be kidding, I said I was sorry! Come on, you’re not really gonna hit me with that thing, are you? That can’t be legal! Where did it even come from? Oh my god, did you bring that with you? What are you, some kind of fucking pervert? Jesus Christ, Jon, that’s a bigass hunk of _wood_! You can’t use that on me, I’ve got a game tomorrow night!” Patrick is pretty much losing it and that kind of does it for Jonny.

 

“Duuuh, of course it’s wood, it’s a fucking paddle. And no, I didn’t bring it with me, dumbass. It’s always been here. Man the fuck up, Pat. I appreciate that you apologized, but we both know you have this coming and your ass is mine for the rest of the period. You've earned yourself ten strikes. You’re a big boy and you’re gonna take it and like it and keep your mouth shut about it _and_ you’ll be just fine for your game. Got it?” Jonny turns Patrick so that he can undo his jeans and push them down to his knees. Jon’s sharp intake of breath startles both of them.

 

“Why am I even surprised _at all_ that you’re bare assed under here? Fuck, Kaner, you’re a piece of work. Bend over the damn desk and don’t make a sound.”

 

Patrick can’t make himself move. Even his face is frozen, like one of those little choir boys you see at Christmastime with their eyes and mouths open wide. He looks at Jonny and starts to tremble and break out in goosebumps everywhere. Jonny just pushes him down on the desk and pins his hands to the small of his back with one of his own. The other one reaches for the paddle. Jonny takes a minute to drag the smooth wood over Patrick’s ass and down across the top of his thighs, so slow and easy. He wants him to feel the weight of it, to feel how solid and unyielding it is against his skin. And then he makes sure to raise it right into his line of vision so Patrick knows exactly what’s coming.  

 

“I want your eyes on me and I want you thinking about your actions here this morning. It’s not okay to fuck with people the way you do. That kind of shit has consequences,” Jonny says as he brings the paddle down swift and hard across the meaty part of Pat’s ass with no further warning. Neither one is prepared for the sound it makes as it strikes. Patrick’s face burns with humiliation. Jonny’s cock hardens instantly.

 

Tears fill Pat’s eyes after just two more swats, but to his credit he stays as still and quiet as he can and takes it. Even when Jonny lands the paddle across his thighs with his next two swings, he just clenches tight and takes it. Jonny’s kind of proud of him.

 

“You doing okay, Pat? Halfway home, just five more.” Jonny’s voice sounds as overwhelmed as Patrick looks, but he can’t stop now. It would defeat the purpose. Pat just groans out a _fuck_ and squeezes his eyes shut.

 

“Open your eyes, Patrick. I told you I want you looking at me.” The paddle comes down heavy and loud and Pat’s eyes fly open. He quickly apologizes to Jonny, who works the wood between his thighs and rubs it against the back of his balls.

 

“What…what are you doing? Please tell me you’re not gonna paddle me there. You can’t do that. _Please,_ Jonny. I promise not to close my eyes again.” Jonny just tells Patrick to kick off one of his sneakers, which he does, then leans down and slides his jeans off his leg. He moves the paddle underneath Patrick’s balls, gently tapping against them.

 

“Spread your legs and wrap your feet around the corners of the desk,” Jonny tells Patrick and takes a minute to admire the view as he quickly complies. He has a superb ass and Jon reminds himself that he’s going straight to hell, and probably jail, for what he’s doing to it. He decides he doesn’t give two shits at the moment.

 

He raises the paddle nice and slow and lets it hover in Patrick’s peripheral vision. His eyes roam over Pat’s and he tries to count how many different shades of blue and gray and gold he sees there. He can’t. He’s a mess, worse than Pat because he knows better than to let himself get into a situation like this in the first place. Patrick is a high school kid and he’s got no business thinking about him any other way, no matter how fucking hot he is, no matter that he’s eighteen and not really a kid at all, no matter that his ass is now spread wide and inviting before him and Jonny fucking _likes_ it that way. Jon’s dick is leaking steadily and it’s getting harder and harder for him to breathe and he can’t believe he’s actually getting off on this. What does that even say about him?

 

His arm flies down fast and furious and he paddles Patrick across the bottom of his cheeks like it’s all his fault Jonny’s weak for him. The stripe he leaves behind is deep red this time, no longer pale pink like the first few. Pat’s balls contract high and tight from the force of the impact and from what little he can see, Jonny thinks his cock looks to be as hard as his own even though it’s wedged tight between the crease of his thigh and the desk and forced downward. One, two, three more blows, each one harder than the last, and Jonny’s done. He drops the paddle and sucks in mouthfuls of air and damn near loses it when he sees Patrick coming all over the side of the desk. He’s shaking and tears are streaming down his face and his eyes are still locked on Jon. Jonny has to grab his dick and squeeze himself hard to keep from coming in his pants.

 

It’s a good two minutes later when realizes he’s still pressing Patrick’s hands down and finally lets them go, rubbing some of the feeling back into his wrists as he does. Pat is still breathing so hard and doesn’t even try to move so Jonny steps closer, right up against the corner of the desk, and reaches out to smooth a hand down his back. The heat radiating off him draws Jonny’s hand back again and again. Eventually his eyes move down to stare at the angry red marks marring Pat’s pale, perfect skin and his hand follows. He lightly draws a finger over the four darkest stripes and doesn’t stop himself or overthink it when he leans down and kisses each one as softly as he can. Patrick shivers and groans and still doesn’t try to get up.

 

“I didn’t mean to hit you so hard those last few times. It got away from me and I’m sorry.”

 

“I deserved it, Jon. S’okay. Feels good what you’re doing now. Don’t want you to stop.” Patrick closes his eyes and stays sprawled in front of Jon. “And sorry about the desk. I’ll clean it up before the bell.”

 

Jonny lifts his head and laughs softly. “Yeah, it’s not the first time this desk took a hit. Don’t worry about it.”

 

“Who….wait, you? No shit?” Patrick’s voice is kind of thready and low when picks his head up enough to look over at Jonny.

 

“How did you think I knew about the paddle? I went easy on you, Pat. My ass had welts for days. Yours will just be a little red, no raised or broken skin or anything. Not too bad for my first time on this end of the stick. And just for the record, it was my junior year and I got mine for being a mouthy little asshole. Totally deserved it, too.” Jonny’s voice is also low and a little shaky.

 

Jonny steps around the desk until he’s standing between Patrick’s legs. He draws his fingertips over his ass again and takes his time slowly tracing along his muscled curves and planes. It’s a short time later that his hands settle on his hips and he lets his tongue take over. He knows it’s wrong, he doesn’t care. He just wants to lick everywhere he paddled Patrick and make him feel better. It must be working because he’s arching his back and pushing up against Jonny’s mouth and the sounds coming out of him have Jonny slamming painfully against his zipper again. He wants to turn Pat over and swallow his cock _so fucking much_ he’s shaking with it. It’s _this_ that finally penetrates the lust-induced haze fogging Jon’s brain. He doesn’t see how this can end any way other than badly and he needs to be the adult here and put a stop to it now. It kills him, but he picks up his head, lets his hands fall away and takes a step back.

 

“Hey,” he says and clears his throat, “we, uh, we need to get you cleaned up and presentable again. There’s about fifteen minutes left before the bell so come on, Patrick, stand up and let me help you.”

 

Jonny grabs a handful of tissues from the box on a nearby shelf and waits. Patrick takes a couple of deep breaths and then pushes himself off the desk and turns toward Jonny.

 

“So, what, this is it?” Patrick says. He drags his palms over his face, straightens his shirt and reaches for the tissues in Jon’s hand. It’s quick work to clean himself off and toss them in the trash and when he’s done he steps right up in Jon’s space, still mostly naked and daring him to look anywhere else.

 

Jonny lets himself have this. He lets his eyes roam over Patrick long enough to memorize the curve of his mouth, the compact power and definition of his shoulders, his arms and his chest, the strong lines of his thighs and the absolute perfection of his now-softening cock. There’s no point, no end game to work toward, so Jon can’t even tell himself why he does it. He just does.

 

“What did you think was going to happen here?” he asks Patrick, eyes returning to settle on his. “Forget the age difference. Forget the fact that we’re in totally different places in our lives. Forget that we don’t even know each other. The bottom line, the only thing that matters, is that today I’m your teacher and you’re my student. Fuck, Patrick, I just locked us in a class room and paddled your bare ass and then licked it. What does that even make me? I’ve pretty much crossed every line there is and it’s wrong. Any way you want to spin it, it’s just wrong and it can’t go any further than it already has. You know I’m right, so yeah, this is it.”

 

Jon turns away and redresses himself. He wipes down the side of the desk and drops the paddle back into the drawer before returning everything to the desk top. Patrick doesn’t say anything as he pulls his jeans on and steps into his sneaker. He picks up the eraser from across the room, opens the blinds and returns to stand in front of Jonny again. Feelings are bursting in his chest, complex and unexpected, and Pat doesn’t know what to do with them. He isn’t exactly prepared for the blitzkrieg that is Jonathan Toews, so he does what he does best. He meets Jonny head on and calls his bluff.

 

“I think you’re full of shit.” Patrick says and reaches out and drags a finger up the front of Jon’s pants, following the blatantly obvious outline of his erection. “And button your jacket for fuck’s sake, unless you plan on explaining to the class why you have a giant wet spot on top of your giant boner. Maybe you can go jerk off in the bathroom before next period, you’ve got about nine minutes. Let me know if you need some help, Jon, because I can probably get it done in under three.”

 

Jonny jerks backward in surprise while looking down at himself and Patrick hears a mumbled _fuck…shit…dammit_ as he buttons his jacket and heads toward the door. He unlocks it, lifts the shade and turns the knob to pull it open, but Patrick is right there at his back and kicks it shut. This time it’s Jonny being spun around by the arm and he comes to rest up against the wall next to the door, too surprised to move away.

 

“Fuck the age difference. Fuck that shit about being in different places in our lives. Fuck that we don’t even know each other, that’s bullshit and you know it because you gotta start somewhere. And fuck that lame ass excuse about being my teacher. _You_ are not my teacher,” Patrick says to Jonny while he’s got him plastered to the wall. “At least I’m adult enough to acknowledge there’s something here, which is more than can be said for you, so that makes it your turn to man the fuck up, Jonathan, because I’m gonna kiss you and you’re gonna let me and you’re gonna like it. Got it?”

 

Patrick winds one of his hands around the back of Jonny’s head and holds him still while he reaches up and presses his mouth to his. He’s surprisingly patient and gentle as his lips slide over Jon’s, all hot and wet and sexy, licking softly at them until they open. Pat feels it the instant Jonny’s resistance drops away, just before his hands come up to frame Patrick’s face and his tongue finds its way into his mouth to taste him for the first time. After a few minutes of mutual exploring, Pat can’t help sucking on Jon’s lips, bruising them a little between his teeth and welcoming the pain when Jonny returns the favor. He moves to catch Jon’s tongue and sucks him deep and hard and then slowly, slowly slides his mouth back down its length. He ends with one more lingering kiss that leaves Jonny all but panting.

 

“Like I said, Jon, you’re full of shit,” Patrick says quietly against his lips and then just walks out of the classroom before his chest explodes from everything he’s holding in.

 

Jonny’s a mess. Again. This is the last thing he was expecting when he walked into his alma mater this morning. And although Jon’s never even talked to him before today and he doesn’t remember him at all--there were too many grades between them when Jonny was in school--he knows exactly who Patrick Kane is because he keeps tabs on his former team, especially when someone as dynamic as Pat is playing. He also knows about all his years with the Junior Sabres because, yeah, he looked him up. Jon will even admit to himself that he’s watched a fair amount of Pat’s game footage on YouTube, and by fair amount he means _hours._ Many, many hours. So, he has no reasonable explanation, not even for himself, as to why he didn’t say anything earlier, why he let Pat think he’d never heard of him before first period. He thinks maybe it’s his innate sense of self-preservation kicking in or something along those lines. He also thinks it might be a little too late.

 

He peels himself off the wall, settles for a long drink from the nearby water fountain and makes it back to his desk with about four minutes to spare. He uses them wisely, willing his cock into submission and the embarrassing spots of color out of his face. Patrick is right, he thinks to himself. He’s so full of shit.

 

The bell shatters the silence and the students start streaming back in. Patrick is one of the last to enter and takes the same seat he’s had all day, lowering himself into it very slowly and gingerly. He cracks open a big bottle of Chocolate Muscle Milk and takes several long swigs, looking out the window instead of at Jonny. In fact, he doesn’t look at Jonny at all and it really bugs him because Jonny can’t stop looking at Patrick and it makes him think of Pat’s comment about who’s the actual adult here. So.

 

Jon gives everyone a few minutes to get seated and settled before he launches into the whole theme of the Roots for Success program and how important it is for them, as seniors, to have some kind of plan for their future, whether it be college or vocational training or a job or something else. He spends the next several minutes talking about his own situation—the draft, winning a Frozen Four, Blackhawks training camp, his first NHL game, his injury and the subsequent surgery and how he just never really recovered to the point it ended his career before he even had a chance. He gives a very whitewashed version of the impact and effect it had not only on his life, but the lives of his family and how his only saving grace at the time was that he’d graduated from college and had the tools he’d needed to begin again. He finds Patrick now watching him intently as he talks about himself and the look they exchange tells Jon that in spite of his extreme gloss over, Pat is having no trouble whatsoever filling in every single blank. It leaves Jonny feeling acutely exposed and uncharacteristically vulnerable.

 

Jon spends the next quarter hour answering all kinds of questions from the students, everything from what sort of food the cafeteria served when he was here, to what really goes on in an NHL locker room, to what kind of roommate he had in college. He asks a lot of questions, as well, and finds out that one girl is going to Williams in the fall, two others to SUNY Buffalo, two already took a civil service exam, four more are going to the local community college and three haven’t thought that far ahead yet. That leaves Patrick.

 

Jon asks him what his plans are after high school and whether or not he gave any thought to college. Between his school hockey stats and all his years of success with the Junior Sabres, he figures Pat must know he’s got a good shot at going high in the draft and just assumes he’ll focus on hockey. He’s kind of shocked when Patrick tells him, in as few words as possible because he’s clearly still pissed, that of course he’s going to college and what did Jonny think he’s been busting his ass for all these years. So naturally Jon asks him where he’s going.

 

“RPI.” Patrick keeps it short and sweet. He’s not sure why Jonny’s eyes bug or his face pales the way it does.

 

“Wait, what? You mean like _Troy_ RPI?” Jonny’s being a little weird and he looks like he swallowed a puck.

 

“Um, Jonathan, the last time I checked there was only one RPI and yes, it’s still in Troy. And don’t look so shocked. I’m not dumb, you know. I managed to get myself into a great school _and_ I’ll be playing hockey.”

 

“Wow. RPI. Yeah, so that’s where you’re going. Good. That’s good, Patrick. Very impressive. Congrats. And of course you’re not dumb, no one said anything about dumb.”

 

“That’s not entirely true, now is it? That whole part about being dumb.” Pat gives him a long look before turning away. Class is almost over, which means Jonny’s time here is almost over and Patrick is getting a sick, prickly feeling in his stomach as that thought settles with him.

 

Jonny wants to say something to Patrick, _something_ , anything. Instead, he turns away as well and says a few last words to the class and has just enough time to thank them before the final bell rings and everyone gets up to leave. Jonny grabs his phone and with one eye on Patrick, lets his thumbs fly over the keys. It only takes him a few seconds to pull up what he’s looking for.

 

“Patrick. Hey, hold up. Got a minute?” Pat is only halfway to the door. He’s moving slow and stiff and hesitates before turning around.

 

“Now what, Jon? More bs? More excuses? Gotta tell you, I‘ve already had my fill today, so if that’s it, just, have a nice life, okay? I have to get to the gym.” Patrick stands looking at Jon, making no move to leave despite his words, so Jonny rushes on, ignoring all his snarky comments.

 

“Fifteen miles, twenty-two minutes.” Jonny’s coming closer, a big smile on his face and his phone in his hand. Patrick just stares at him. “Look, Pat, that’s all it is. Fifteen miles, twenty-two minutes.”

 

“I have no clue what you’re talking about, man, but you’re being really fucking weird.” Patrick doesn’t know what’s confusing him more, Jonny’s words or the big dumb smile on his face. The prickly feeling in his stomach is spreading.

 

“Ask me where I’m working this fall, Patrick, come on, ask me. No one asked me that question, not a single one of you all day long. Come on.” Jonny‘s getting pretty worked up and he reaches for Patrick’s hand.

 

Patrick’s heart starts to race. “It’s not RPI is it? Is that why you’re freaking out? That would be terrible, Jonny, the fucking worst. I’d have to see you all the time and you’d drive me fucking nuts and then I’d have to kill you dead inside a week and I’d probably lose my scholarship. Please tell me that’s not it.”

 

“No, no, that’s not it. You’re right, that’d be the worst,” Jon said to Pat. “I think it’s actually written into my employment contract that I can’t date the students. God, Pat.”

 

It’s Patrick’s turn to go pale.

 

“What do you mean, date the students? What are you even talking about? Quit playing around and just tell me. Or is this you fucking with me because of the whole dare thing. I apologized, Jon. I fucking apologized. And I think I more than paid for that, don’t you? I told you none of it was even about the stupid dare.” Patrick pulls his hand from Jonny’s and takes a step back. He doesn’t know what Jon’s playing at, but he wants it to stop.

 

Jonny closes the gap between himself and Patrick again, but he doesn’t try to touch him.

 

“Oh man, I’m really fucking this up, aren’t I? Fine, I’m starting over. So, I knew all along who you were. _Maybe_ I’m really into your hockey and you can’t blame me for that. I know all about the Junior Sabres and how you’re tearing it up there, as well as here. I know you’re five goals away from breaking my scoring record and you’re going to finish your career here as the all-time points leader. You’re like a little blonde Tasmanian devil on skates and really, who wouldn’t be into watching that? I’ve been really looking forward to meeting you today, I just wasn’t expecting any of this.” Now it’s Jonny waving his hand back and forth between them. “More importantly, five years isn’t that big of a deal, you’re almost done, and you’ll be in college and I’ll be lecturing at a college so technically we’ll both be in college which is kind of us being in the same place, sort of, and you’re right about having to start somewhere so who cares if we really don’t know each other even though we kind of do now and I’m really not your teacher so yeah, that’s a lame ass excuse if I ever heard one and…”

 

“Jesus, Jonny, take a fucking breath before you have a stroke,” Patrick interrupts, a smile playing on his lips. “And it’s more like four and a half years, just saying. Four and a half is better than five. Now, this shit about the Tasmanian devil. What you _meant_ to say is that I’m a much better looking version of him, right? Because he’s fucking ugly.”

 

Jonny holds up his thumb and index finger with a quarter inch gap between them and scrunches up his face a little.

 

“Fuck you, Toews, I’m one handsome devil and you know it. So does all this mean what I think it means? You’ve removed your head from your ass and turned into an honest to god grown-up sometime between sixth period and now and finally realize what a catch I am? And speaking of ass, mine fucking hurts. I can’t imagine why. But I think you should take me out and feed me because I’m pretty sure that’ll make it feel better.”

 

Patrick is outright smiling now and it’s a beautiful thing. He stands looking at Jonny and suddenly remembers what started this whole exchange. “Jon, who hired you?”

 

“I’ll give you a hint. What do Shayne Gostisbehere, Keith Kinkaid, national title, Messa Rink and Dutchmen all have in common? Come on, Patrick, fifteen miles and twenty-two minutes separate our campuses. Think. You know the answer.” Jonny still has that dumb smile on his face.

 

“Holy shit, Jonny, it’s Union, isn’t it? Fucking _Union College_. What are the odds of that even happening? Of all the places for either of us to end up, this is awesome. You know what this means, right?” Patrick also has a big dumb smile on his face and doesn’t wait for Jon to respond. “It means this whole you and me thing is happening. It has to. It’s the only plausible explanation and it can’t mean anything else, so you better not fuck this up, Jonathan. You know how you are.”

 

“What? Oh my god, you’re such a fucking dork. We’ve known each other for half a day, you have no idea how I am.” Patrick raises his eyebrows at this as Jonny continues. “What if I can’t stand you by then? Have you even thought about that? For all I know, you snore or leave the seat up or are addicted to QVC. And what if you drool in your sleep or have Barry Manilow ring tones or binge watch the old Match Game? I don’t know if I can be with somebody who does that shit.”

 

“Wow, so what are you saying Jonny, you want to move in together? I don’t know, man, I think we should at least fuck first, don’t you?” Patrick laughs at the look on Jonny’s face and keeps on going. “I’m a guy, dipshit, of course I snore and leave the seat up. But I only drool sometimes. And I’d bet money you know every word to Copa Cabana so you can fuck right the fuck off. Not to mention I can see you grinding one out to Gene Rayburn every once in a while. Hey, wait a minute. Does this mean I’m dating a professor? Sweeeet.”

 

“Sweet my ass. I’m not even a professor yet and just to be clear, we’re not dating, we’re not moving in together, we’re not anything right now. And who the fuck is Gene Rayburn?” Jonny actually looks a little put out and Patrick laughs at him again.

 

“Relax, Toews, you know I’m kidding, right? Come on, grab your stuff and you can walk me to the gym. You remember where it is, old man?” Patrick grins at him and bumps his shoulder. “I have a workout before practice, but maybe you can hang out, join us on the ice afterward. Coach talks about you all the time and it’s fucking annoying as shit. He’d probably love to see you and catch up or whatever.”  

 

“Yeah, that’d be great. Gotta warn you though, I haven’t been on the ice in a while, but yeah, why not. I was thinking of coming to the game tomorrow night. You cool with that?” Jonny grins back, picks up his laptop and follows Patrick out the door.

 

“I can feel that, Jonathan,” Patrick says, shimmying his hips a little. “Quit looking at my ass unless you plan on finishing what you started back on the desk.”

 

Jonny’s head bobs around, making sure there’s no one in ear shot to overhear Patrick.

 

“I’ve clearly lost my mind. What the fuck did I just get myself into?” Jonny reaches out to squeeze Patrick’s shoulder.

 

He doesn’t let go.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


End file.
